


In The King's Bed

by PoppyAlexander



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Ficlet, Hand Jobs, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Pet Names, Pillow Talk, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 04:44:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15016934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoppyAlexander/pseuds/PoppyAlexander
Summary: The two Philippes have a sneaky tryst in His Majesty's bed.





	In The King's Bed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Starrla89](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starrla89/gifts).



> Prompted on Tumblr by Starrla89: "Monchevy have sex in Louis's bed"

The Swiss guarding Louis’s empty bedchamber was laughably easy to bribe: half the coins they were willing to part with, and a near-empty dram of a potion they knew promised much but inspired little. Once inside, the chevalier kicked off his slippers, unfastened his breeches, and detached his jabot, a sweeping flurry of motion that resulted in him half-undone, fully unfurled across the foot of the great, gilded bed higher and wider and deeper than any other at Versailles.

“You look amusingly tiny, Philippe,” Monsieur told him, through a smirk, savouring the intimacy of using his Christian name, and the taste of it was so strangely different in his mouth than saying his own name. The two Philippes, thee and me, Philippe the Chevalier golden and fizzing, Monsieur Philippe a broody, dark cloud.

“My sweet peach, I assure you I have never been so accused.” He seemed to take extra pains to rumple the bedding, displacing all the linens and silks as he crawled backwards toward its head, fingers curling to invite Monsieur’s company. “Come nearer and I will show you.”

Crashing onto the bed, grasping at his ankle, Monsieur pressed his mouth into the arch of his stocking-clad foot, rubbed his lips firmly into the sweetly damp silk, licked a stripe up to the bone of his ankle even as his Philippe–sunny-smiling treasure of his life, not at all tiny, true enough–gathered the length of his dark hair and wound it around his own rolling wrist until he steered Monsieur’s mouth to his, and the two fell side by side onto the bed that reeked of his brother’s favoured perfumes, and which they endeavoured to stink up and stain.

In no time there were bare chests with nipples licked raw, tugged and tickled by greedy, rough fingers. Open breeches, and Monsieur’s small clothes were all of peach satin, liquid and ladylike, and elicited growls of lust from his looking-glass lover, Philippe fair where he himself was dark, cheerful where he was maudlin, open-mouthed where he bit his lips shut, and sucked a gasp through his nostrils, his pretty, manly Philippe, his Philippe alone, with a hand on his rampant prick, sliding a handful of that peach satin, his Philippe rocking against him, sucking his neck, biting the lobe of his ear, his own Philippe moaning low  _my peach, ma pêche, my heart, my pretty love, mon roi, the king of my soul_.


End file.
